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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25183978">Into Fire and Into Ice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reign_of_Glory/pseuds/Reign_of_Glory'>Reign_of_Glory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Six Ghost Hunters AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Six - Marlow/Moss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Amnesia, Gen, Ghosts, Good Guys and Bad Guys, Less Confusing After Chapter 1, They Hunt Ghosts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:46:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25183978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reign_of_Glory/pseuds/Reign_of_Glory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world ridden with Demons, Angels, and Ghosts, the corporation of Renaissance is determined to eliminate all evil from the world. They think they're out of luck until something curious happens in England - a human with some ghostly properties shows up. Soon enough, there are similar people showing up in France and Germany as well. </p><p>Is this what they've been waiting for?</p><p>---</p><p>AKA a Ghost Hunting AU</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Six Ghost Hunters AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2278571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Who You Gonna Call?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Snap. Crackle. Boom.</p><p>She can’t see. She can feel, if only a little. But oh boy, she can hear.</p><p>The sound of rain pattering echoes in her ears, but it's not like normal rain. The sound is loud, <em>too loud</em>. She can’t focus on the darkness in her mind, the darkness that tells her to open her eyes.</p><p>And so she lets her eyes stay closed, slowly leaning into the feeling of the rain against her skin and hair. The feeling of wet clothing sticking to her arms surprises her, and she feels along her sleeve with one hand, barely opening her eyes to squint at her surroundings.</p><p>Goodness. Where <em>i</em><em>s</em> she?</p><p>Large buildings dot the skyline while still allowing the place she is in to have a natural feel. She feels as if she’s been here before, but she can’t find exactly where in her brain that memory resides.</p><p>Really, she can’t find where most of her memories are. It's a wonder she knows what a memory is.</p><p>All she knows is her name, and even that hardly helps her. There is no other identifier but <em>Catalina</em>, and for all she knows, Catalina might be a common name.</p><p>The woman narrows her eyes further, grumbling to herself words she hardly understands when she feels rain catch in her eyelashes. This is pointless. Why is she here if she has no clue where <em>here</em> is?</p><p>She sees a bench, and although it is coated in a layer of rainwater, she sits on it anyway. It's not only her feet that ache; everywhere from the tips of her toes to the hair on her head seem to hurt. Something prods her through her trousers - they <em>are</em> trousers, right? - and makes her feel around inside what seemed to be a pocket in her clothing.</p><p>She finds a leather pouch, except… It's not really much of a pouch. Taking it out, she opens it, and she sees that there are small pieces of material in there. They are made of an odd material that reminds her of what flimsy teeth might feel like.</p><p>Catalina narrows her eyes at the pieces of flimsy teeth fabric in her hands. One of them has words on it, and she squintes at the fine print. <em>Arianna Caterin</em>, it reads, and she is certain that it isn’t her name she's reading. The picture next to it, though… The skin tone mirrors what she saw on her hands, and she quickly pulls a soaking strand of hair before her eyes. A perfect match.</p><p><em>“Ay dios mio,”</em> Catalina murmurs. “I hardly look familiar.” Everything feels off, and how she doesn’t feel like herself just adds more to the mix. Something is very wrong here, but Catalina has no idea what. As Catalina narrows her eyes at the landscape surrounding her once more, she sighs. Reality be damned. It is obvious she doesn’t belong here.</p><p>And so she lounges on a bench in the midst of a clearing, gazing listlessly at the landscape before her. It is beautiful, but in a melancholic way. Catalina has to wonder what the skyline looked like before the many buildings marred the beauty of pure nature.</p><p>If she ever saw it differently, she doesn’t remember. She finds herself unable to recall much as she sits; nothing other than her first name comes to her. It's quite annoying, she thinks - how can she find out much if she doesn’t even know her own surname.</p><p>She is so enveloped in her own thoughts and musings that she is unable to hear the footsteps that resonate behind her over the soft rhythm of the rain. Had she been listening for it, it would have emphasised the mud in the grass and only made her more miserable.</p><p>“Catherine,” says a soft, masculine voice, causing Catalina to jolt. “That’s your name, yes?”</p><p>Catalina stands, and thank the Lord, her voice at the very least sounds familiar, comforting her slightly in this vast ocean of uncertainty. “No." Her tongue feels odd in her mouth. Wrong, perhaps. “But you are not far off. My name is Catalina.” She turns to face the Scotsman, for if she recognises anything, it is his accent. “Were you searching for me?”</p><p>The man gives her small a smile, laughing softly and running a hand through his soaked ginger hair. There's something that draws her to him, like a moth to a flame, and she returnes his smile. “Sorry." A chuckle emanates from his tone. “I’m Peter. I’ve been looking for you, Catalina. I… I thought you went by Catherine. My apologies.” The Scotsman - no, <em>Peter</em> - holds an easygoing demeanour, and his obvious nerves elicit a chuckle from Catalina as well.</p><p>“Oh, Peter, you’re absolutely fine,” Catalina assures the man, a small smile playing on her lips as she speaks, her tone light. “They are very similar names, after all.” She quirks an eyebrow, blinking droplets of rain out of her eyes as she squints at Peter. “Besides, Catherine’s got to be a common name if you’d called me that. I’d think so." Something changes in her tone, and she continues. “Because it would have been surprising had you called me, say, Arianna.” Her thoughts flit back to the weird identifiers on the thing in her hands, and she puts it back in the leather pouch, slipping the pouch into her trousers once more.</p><p>As she thinks, an odd feeling grows in Catalina’s gut. She's not entirely sure she can trust the Scotsman, but she feels inexplicably drawn to him in some way - as if he is the only thing that stands strong in the midst of an earthquake. Nevertheless, when Peter suggests she follow him to someone’s house, she shrugs and follows. It's not as if she has anywhere better to go.</p><p>Catalina trails after him, marvelling at the facts he told her about this place, which he called London. By the time they arrive at a quaint house, the two are already soaked and laughing as they speak. Catalina’s clothes stick to her skin, but she finds she doesn’t care despite the chill in the air. It's wonderful, the surge of happiness that rushes through her veins, and she swears she would have stayed soaking wet for an hour longer if it meant keeping that feeling.</p><p>Still, nearly fifteen minutes after Peter knocked on the large mahogany door, it swings open to reveal a stout woman and signal the end of Catalina’s small joy. At the bewildered expression on Catalina’s face, the newcomer scoffs and Peter shruggs. “She likes to make me wait,” he says in to Catalina.</p><p>“What do you <em>need</em>, Andrew?”</p><p>That alone catches Catalina off guard, and her eyes - which she supposes would be amber - widen. Then, the other woman’s lips quirk up, a complete contrast to the annoyance that was in her tone before. “Oh. It’s you. Peter. And you brought… A friend? Oh, joy.”</p><p>The woman doesn’t seem too pleased. Peter, however, is unphased by her behaviour, and the Scotsman smiles at both of them, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, I know… Don’t bring new people… But <em>look</em> at her and tell me it doesn’t remind you of gazing at Mary!”</p><p>The name hits something inside Catalina, making her expression shift from one of contentment to one that was rather disconcerted. Nevertheless, she pays it no mind, instead choosing to focus on the conversation between Peter and the small woman.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Peter says again, “Cynthia Adams, this is Cath- Er, Catalina. She didn’t give me a surname,” he finishes, eyeing Catalina in a way that made her swallow a lump in her throat. She… doesn’t have a surname.</p><p>Catalina squints at the woman and makes a split-second decision; surely someone of Cynthia’s age would be married. “Hello, Mrs Adams,” she begins. “I…” She shoots a glance at Peter, and he nods for her to go on. “I met Peter at this clearing down the road; he called it Hyde Park. I… I’m lost.”</p><p>Cynthia sets her jaw, a muscle in her cheek twitching. “Ms Adams,” she corrects, “And… Yes, Peter, I suppose you’re right. She has the Glow, just like Mary does.”</p><p>Catalina furrows her brow, shooting a confused glance at Peter. The man doesn’t catch her gaze, however, and he seems to be having a conversation through stares with Cynthia.</p><p>“Let’s get you warmed up,” Cynthia begins, and suddenly Catalina is very aware of how cold and wet she iss. Her clothes stick to her in a way that makes her want to pick at her shoulders. She gives the other woman a warm smile, following her to a small area where a few chairs dot the floor. Cynthia picks up a blanket and hands it to Catalina, which the woman thankfully accepts with a small smile. “Then, you can tell us what happened.”</p><p>Lina - wait, where did <em>that</em> come from? - curls into the blanket as she flops all too ungracefully into one of the chairs. “Again, I’m not too sure,” she says, the soft fabric tickling her chin as she fidgets slightly. “One moment, I wasn’t there, the next, I was out in the rain and not sure who I was.” She raises an eyebrow at Cynthia, drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair. “What… What did you mean by ‘Glow’?” she asks the older woman, unsure why the word was said with such importance. “I don’t think I’m glowing.” She stares at her hands, trying to elicit a glow from them with her eyes alone.</p><p>That, naturally, doesn’t work.</p><p>Cynthia les out a small chuckle. “Love, I’m surprised you don’t see it,” she says with a  smirk. “It radiates off of you. It’s the same type of thing we see in spectres, really, and the only reason I let you in my house.” Catalina’s eyes widen at that. It's a lot to take in - to other people, was she really glowing?</p><p>“Here, let me,” Peter mumbles, pulling out a device from a pocket in his trousers. He hit a button on it, and to Catalina’s surprise, it began to glow. He passes it to her after pressing it a few times, and she glares at her own reflection.</p><p>“What… What is this?” Catalina wonders aloud, staring at her own lips - or rather, how they look in the camera. She still appears unfamiliar to herself, but she finds she's no longer itching in her own skin. Frowning, she glances at Peter, giving him a shrug.</p><p>The man smiles warmly. “This,” he says, “Is a Reformer.”</p><p>She scowls at the name, staring at the screen, and suddenly, the device vibrates in her hands, causing her to nearly drop it. “What!?” she yelps, fumbling for the Reformer after it lands in her blankets. After picking it up again, the screen shines differently: it seems darker.</p><p>No, it isn’t that. The Reformer is casting darkness onto her, and in turn, she sees a warm golden light on the screen. She doesn't think it's coming from the screen, however, and the faint Glow happens to be in the loose form of a human hand.</p><p>“Oh my God,” Catalina murmurs, “I’m Glowing.”</p><p>The silence that follows her declaration surprises her; surely Cynthia or Peter will correct her? It has to be impossible for a human’s skin to glow. Still, as she thinks about it, only one solution comes to mind: <em>Catalina isn’t human.</em></p><p>Catalina squints at her fingers, the Glow radiating off of them seeming to increase. It seems heavenly the longer she looks at it, the type of Glow that might surround an angel. Catalina is sure she is not an angel, but staring down at her Glowing hands only seems to contradict her thoughts. Something else is at work here, something not heavenly, but also not yet demonic in nature. Something that, in a way, is vaguely human.</p><p>She can see it now. The entire house seems to have a soft orange Glow radiating off of it, lighting the walls. It seems Peter and Cynthia don't notice it - or perhaps they are used to it so they pay it no mind; she doesn’t quite know.</p><p>Finally, Cynthia smiles a smile that, for once, seems genuine. “Indeed you are, Catalina. Indeed you are.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Within A Shadowed Forest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After those at the ghost-hunting corporation, Renaissance, see something interesting happening at their English branch, it just makes perfect sense that someone with a mortal wound would show up in France... Yeah, perfect sense.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm currently switching the tense of this chapter to present as consistency is key for me - do bear with it if you're reading it just now. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is dark.</p><p>That alone is what little the woman can puzzle out as she squints into the darkness that seems to envelop her. It's humid, she notes, and her arms seem to be exposed to the sticky, slight warmth.</p><p>If the mild weather is a blessing, the absolute agony that was coursing through her veins is a curse. Her throat aches, and for a moment, she is certain she’s got some form of sickness, except… Sickness does not make such a specific spot on your throat feel as if it is falling off. She is not quite sure what this is, but as she blinks absentmindedly, she brings a finger to the line of fire on her neck-</p><p>-And she holds back a scream. Not only does her throat <em>burn</em>, but as she yanks her finger away, she is aware that her finger is wet and even more sticky. There is only one explanation for that, and even if she had her memories, she’d have known that she was bleeding in the middle of the night.</p><p>Great. Just great.</p><p>Placing her finger back on her throat, she traces what seemed to be an open wound. A feeling of ice graces the raging fire surrounding her throat; something that slightly douses the blaze that is a scar following the circumference of her throat.</p><p>A small noise comes from behind her, and the woman turns, her hand still cupping her throat. Bright lights make her squint in the darkness, and in the low visibility she can just barely see three figures approaching her. Instantly, some form of fear takes over, rooting her to the ground. While the flight-or-fight instinct may be strong inside her, she can’t help but feel curious. After all, now that she can see the trees, she has to wonder: what on earth are people doing in the woods?</p><p>An odd feeling bubbles up inside the woman as she stands there, in the middle of a dark forest, watching. Something is terribly wrong. It feels as if there has been a shift in the universe, as if the earth itself is off balance. She isn’t quite sure what it was, but something leaves her feeling squirmy, as if she has an itch she can’t quite reach.</p><p>As she gazes at her surroundings, which are bathed in a blinding white light, she realises she has no idea where she is. Now that she thinks about it, something is missing. She isn’t entirely sure of what, but after that initial noise, she knows <em>something</em> is missing.</p><p>Only silence surrounds her. Complete, utter silence.</p><p>She stands, like a deer in the headlights - although she wouldn't know what headlights are - and tilts her head to the side, trying to pick out a sound from the deafening silence that came over her. She hears nothing, but there are so many sights. It's as if she hasn’t seen anything in years - and she isn’t even sure she has. It's overwhelming, and she finds she is actually glad there is no noise.</p><p>The small feeling of safety she didn’t know she was yearning for disappears when she heard a loud crunch, making the woman jump. A man stands in front of her, blocking the light from reaching her eyes, and he holds a device in front of him.</p><p>“Stay where you are!” he says firmly. His tone of voice alone terrifies her, chilling her to her bones, and she smiles weakly at him. “Hands in the air, <em>condamnée</em>.”</p><p>She raises an eyebrow, slowly raising her hands as well. <em>”Je ne suis pas condamné,”</em> she murmurs, finding that the tongue he said one word in feels safer than the one she’s been thinking in. How she understands both, she isn’t quite sure, but… If it works, it works. She doesn’t quite like the other language she’s been using as much; yes, it's beautiful in its own way, but it is painful, as if something awful happened regarding it. She doesn’t wish to know what had happened.</p><p>“You speak French?” The man’s eyebrows raise, causing the woman to chuckle slightly. In response, he aims the device and shines a light straight into her eyes, making her scream.</p><p>“What the hell!?” she yelps, backing away while keeping her hands raised in the air. “And yes,” she says in response to his question, tensing as he takes a step closer, and she hears the loud crunch of his boot on a fallen branch. “What do you <em>want</em>?” she asks, keeping her voice soft. “What did I <em>do</em> to you?”</p><p>The man runs one hand through his messy hair, grumbling in a different language to himself. “Damn you, <em>condamnée</em>,” he huffs after a moment, raising his device and pressing a few buttons. A beam of orange light shoots out of it, and initially the woman wants nothig more than to leap out of the way for her own safety.</p><p>The beam, however, makes her laugh uncontrollably when it hits her. She doubles over, biting back tears as it <em>tickles</em> her. The man frowns and presses a few buttons, which give off the same effect with a different colour of light. “Mon dieu!” he exclaims “Merde!” Her reaction seems to have surprised him, and he fumbles with the device before shutting off the light.</p><p>The tickling sensation leaves immediately. She raises her head, slowly lowering her hands as she understands he can do nothing to her. “Pray tell, what was that?” she asks curiously.</p><p>He glares at her, tucking the device in his trousers pocket and crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s a Reformer, condamnée. Don’t play stupid.” Something shifts in his gaze, and he smirks, holding out his hand. The sudden gesture scars her, but she keeps her expression as neutral as possible, aware that pain probably clouds her eyes - her neck hurt.</p><p>“I’m Henrique. And you are..?”</p><p>The woman gives him a nervous smile, shaking his hand. She has to think for a moment, suddenly aware that she hardly knows anything - why is it difficult to recall her own name? “Anne…” she mumbles, averting her gaze as she questions the inner workings of her mind. <em>Mon dieu</em>, she thinks, <em>I sound like such an idiot.</em></p><p>“Fancy meeting you here,” Henrique says jovially, suddenly all smiles and happiness. “I have successfully deduced that you are not a demon! But…” He reveals the device once more, staring at it. “Then why are you, a normal - albeit confused - human, Glowing? And green at that!” He lets out a bark of laughter. “Are you a shape-shifter?”</p><p> </p><p>“A what?”</p><p>Henrique sighs, hitting his forehead with his palm. “A shape-shifter. Go on. Try to be me.”</p><p>“I don’t want to be you,” Anne responds, pulling her tongue at him. “But sure,” she finishes, closing her eyes and trying very, very hard to ignore the blade of pain tearing through her neck. She feels her muscles tense, and after Henrique bursts out in laughter, she peeks through one eye. “Ow,” she deadpans, rubbing her neck.</p><p>Her fingers come away glistening scarlet, and Henrique’s mouth opens in the shape of a small o. “Are you okay?” he asks, “Did that hurt you?”</p><p>Anne laughs, a nervous giggle that she is surprised she made. “Uh…” Her voice trails off as she finally takes in her surroundings, clutching her hands to her throat as if she is choking. “I don’t know,” she answers after a moment, voice soft and hoarse. “I really don’t know.”</p><p>“Mon dieu, you’re bleeding, come on… You know what, I don’t care if you’re a condamné or not, just come on.” Henrique starts forward and grabs her wrist, none too gently. He begins to pull her along. “My car’s over here, we should have first aid… How do you treat a neck wound… Why are you even bleeding in such a straight line?” He pauss his rambling to shoot Anne a confused glance to which she shrugs in response.</p><p>“I…” She bites her lip as she racks her tired brain for a suitable answer, and upon finding nothing, she gives a halfhearted shrug, wincing as she does so. “I… do not know.”</p><p>Henrique shakes his head, hair flying as he opens the door to a vehicle and pushes her inside. “Don’t lean back,” he says, “Harry will flay me alive if you get blood all over the seats. They’re his favourite.” He closes the door after her, leaving her to ponder what on earth to do with the odd fabric resting near her shoulder - she decides not to touch it out of fear of ruining Harry's (whoever that is) seats.</p><p>“You’re actually quite lucky I’m the one who found you there,” Henrique muses, “My associates ran away.” He scoffs. “Cowards, that’s what they are. Anyway… Here, have some gauze,” he says, his fingers brushing Anne’s as she takes the fabric from him.</p><p>It's soft in an odd way, and she runs her fingers along the fabric without tearing it before lifting her hair - a sensation that gives her a sense of deja vu, as if she’s done it before in a similar fashion although she can't remember anything of the sort - and wrapping it around her throat. Immediately, she feels as if she is choking, but she swallows and gives Henrique a wobbly smile.</p><p>“Thank you." Uncertainty laces her tone. “May I ask… Where… Are you taking me?”</p><p>The Frenchman makes the engine start after sliding into a chair beside her, hands gripping a wheel as they begin to move backwards. He steers deftly, avoiding trees as he switches into drive and presses a pedal on the car’s floor. Anne feels her eyelids drooping - why is she tired? She only just met this man; she shouldn’t need to fall asleep… What is happening?</p><p>She nearly leans backwards before reminding herself of Henrique’s words. She isn’t entirely sure of how mere seats are important, but when she pulls the neckline of her shirt down and notices bloodstains blooming across it, she notes that yes, blood <em>stains</em>.</p><p>The rest of the drive consists of Henrique whistling a tune and Anne fighting to keep her eyes open to gaze at the snowy forests while ignoring the itching sensation the gauze, as Henrique called it, causes around her throat. The scenery is beautiful, but it really is difficult to enjoy properly when she bites back tears for what seems like no reason at all.</p><p>She can’t describe the pain, not even in her head. It is the type of thing that can’t be put into words, that can hardly be spun into feelings.</p><p>Finally, they pull into a long drive that ends with a large building. Anne leaps out of the car before Henrique turns off the engine, making a run for the door - although, admittedly, she is slightly transfixed by the foggy clouds her breath leave in the cool winter air. It is mesmerising, and the chill combined with the magnificent sights takes her mind off of the burning at her throat.</p><p>Henrique chuckles as he walks up behind her, knocking thrice on a giant wooden door before grinning at her. “Welcome to Renaissance,” Henrique says as the door swings open, revealing a large lobby in which Anne can see towering bookshelves decorating the walls. A chandelier lights the room, and overall, it gives off an inviting aura.</p><p>She steps in eagerly, inhaling the scent of old books (it reminds her of home, for some reason, or at least whatever home is supposed to be), earning her a <em>tsk</em> from Henrique as she does so.</p><p>“I know you are not in the best condition, but at least remove your boots." He chuckles.</p><p>Anne’s cheeks warm as she bends to slip off her snow-covered boots, which are already beginning to cause a puddle to form on the polished wood floor. After kicking them off, she narrowly avoids stepping in the previously mentioned puddle in her socks - some sort of instinct tells her that wet socks are quite undesirable - and she follows Henrique into a corridor, still clutching the reddened gauze to her throat.</p><p>“Remove that and sit here,” instructs Henrique, gesturing to a small bench near a table. She takes it off slowly, grimacing at the odd pull it gives before finally coming off of her skin, and she hears Henrique inhale quickly.</p><p>“It already looks better,” he observes, his eyes narrowing as he leans closer, his cool fingers brushing against the inflamed flesh as he attempts to get a closer look. It's an unnerving sensation, one that sends a shiver down her spine as he puts slight pressure on the wound with the hands of a medic. “This rate of healing isn’t normal.”</p><p>Furrowing his brow, he takes a flannel and wets it, wiping the dried blood from her throat. “Mon dieu,” he says, “It looks like someone cut off your head, but that’s clearly not the case, as no one in France has been decapitated since the eighties… I’d say you’re accident prone, but… Are you sure you’re not one of the Perfectionné?”</p><p>Anne raises a single eyebrow in response, her lips quirking slightly. “I’m alive, so I doubt I’ve been decapitated,” she muses, “And I don’t think I’m not human,” she says. “I’m in no way perfect.” She tilts her head, wincing as she wonders how she knows that with such certainty. “I’ve made mistakes, I’m sure of it; I’m no more holy than I am condemned.”</p><p>There is something about actually saying that aloud that makes her feel tethered to the earth, as if before, she could have floated off the ground at any moment, but now? Now, she feels more human than she felt before.</p><p>And yet, as Henrique gazes at her, she feels different. If Henrique is human, she is something else. She can’t tell what's different, but he said it himself: ‘This rate of healing isn’t normal.’ She feels like a specimen under his unwavering stare, as if he is trying to dissect her thoughts and figure out what she is as well. Neither of them will get anywhere if that's what he means to do, she thinks, and she smiles a bit more easily, taking a deep breath as she watches him open his mouth.</p><p>“That wouldn’t explain the Glow,” he mumbles, confusion etched into his pale features as his gaze travels from her eyes to where, if she has to guess, her scabbed-over cut is. “Or… <em>That</em>.” He says it as if it's an affliction, almost as if it is the plague.</p><p>Henrique pauses in his analysis, something lighting up behind his green eyes as a smile breaks out across his face. “Bannister!” he exclaims, as if that explains everything. “Of course! England had something similar - save for the neck wound, of course, and looking at that, it’s almost as if it’s stopped bleeding.” His eyes widen as he seems to contemplate numerous possibilities, and then his grin widens, as if it wasn't wide enough. “You might be human,” he says, gazing at Anne with scrutiny, “But… You have a Glow! And colour… That’s not relevant in this case, because you seem to be… Special, like the lady in England.”</p><p>England. Something about the country’s name twists Anne’s heart, as if she once held the place dear to her, like a child, perhaps - of course, how would she know what it felt like to be a mother? It's not as if she even knows what it felt like to love someone, so how could she understand the bond between a parent and their child?</p><p>Anne swallows a lump in her throat, silently marvelling at how quickly it had formed, and she gazes up at Henrique. “I suppose,” she chokes out, urging her voice to sound normal, as if she's not feeling anything other than pure joy to be in this room, analysed as if she's an instrument incapable of playing the correct tune. “But… I’d rather be ordinary than extraordinary, I think.”</p><p>Henrique shrugs, gesturing for her to rise. “You’re out of luck, Miss…” He trails off, raising an eyebrow. “May I ask your surname?”</p><p>She knows it. She would swear she knows it. The answer to his question is on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be said, but something inside her won’t let her have the correct word. Perhaps now, she thinks, is the time to be angry with her memories for leaving her at such an essential time. “I…”</p><p>Her hesitation seems to be enough, and Henrique nods curtly. “Catalina - the woman who they found in England - hadn’t known her surname either. Or much other than her first name.”</p><p>Anne stands, swaying a bit on her feet as she follows Henrique out of the room and down a corridor. The architecture inside the building is flawless, and she finds herself enjoying the tasteful flourishes added by whoever built the place.</p><p>“Although we don’t have a place for you to stay at the moment,” Henrique says, and something about his speech is different, yet Anne couldn’t pinpoint what exactly changed, "do feel free to rest in this room. No one uses it. It’s got some… History to it.”</p><p>He opens the door for her, and she enters, eyes widening at the setup - it is beautiful, fabulous, so much so that all the adjectives running through her mind can’t seem to describe the feeling that erupts in her chest as she enters. She hears the click of the door shutting behind her, and knowing that she is alone, she begins to explore.</p><p>First is a mirror. For some reason, her reflection doesn’t sit right with her. She wears a dark shirt with a wide neckline, accentuating the… What on <em>Earth</em> is that?</p><p>It's worse than she expected. With the amount of pain, she’d thought it would be bad, yes, but nothing like this. Henrique was right; it really does look as if someone took a blade and disconnected her head from her body. Tearing her gaze away from the mirror and battling a strange emptiness that began to form inside her, her sight lands on a small device on a desk.</p><p><em>A Reformer</em>, her admittedly limited memory supplies, and she picks it up, turning it over in her grasp. It is lighter than Henrique’s had been, thinner and easier to hold in her hands without straining her muscles - she’ll have to get used to the larger ones, she thinks, but she quite likes how this one feels in her grip.</p><p>Anne jumps when the screen lights up, and she holds it up to her face to get a closer look. It is… The room, she understands, but… Some books are glowing - no, she corrects, if Henrique was right, they are <em>Glowing</em>.</p><p>She nearly drops the Reformer, and as her grip shifts, a bright green Glow fills the screen. <em>”Mon Dieu,”</em> she murmurs, pulling it up and away from where it showed her feet, and she waves her arm underneath what seems to be a sensor of some sort. Her hands seem to radiate emerald light, and her jaw drops momentarily as she thinks of just how impossible this has to be.</p><p>Normal humans, from what she understands, don’t Glow. Only demons or angels, from what she registered of Henrique’s ramblings, Glow.</p><p><em>Or maybe these books,</em> she thinks, and she begins treading towards the bookshelves in the corner, holding the Reformer up to them. One of them has a silver radiance, and she pulls it out of the shelf, coughing when dust spills off of the cover.</p><p><em>Never a Living Person Left</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:<br/>”Je ne suis pas condamné,” = I am not condemned<br/>"Mon Dieu" = "My God"<br/>"Perfectionne" = Perfected</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Something New</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A new face pops up in England, someone who seems to know a bit more than the other two newcomers to Renaissance. She, too, however, has little recollection of her past... Things are beginning to connect.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Flowers, flowers, come get your flowers!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A woman backs against a booth, groaning to herself as she sprints through the market. Adrenaline pounds in her veins, her heart palpitating as she grimaces. She’s been coming here for the past few days, and every single time, it’s always the same. The same faces, the same buzzing voices, the same overwhelming chatter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hates it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jane, Jane, d’ya want some flowers?” the shopkeeper asks, grinning up at her. In the girl’s outstretched hands is a bouquet of wilting flowers, and Jane’s heart sinks - she would buy them, but she doesn’t have nearly enough money in her pocket and she doesn’t want to rip the poor girl off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What she’s learnt in her few days here is that the shopkeepers do not take kindly to being paid less than they work for. In fact, she’s already seen a few people chased out of the market because of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No thank you, love,” Jane finally responds, a hand on her aching stomach. “I can help you sell them, though,” she offers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would ya really?” the girl asks, bouncing on the tips of her toes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane nods, a smile forming on her lips, and she gestures to the bouquet. “Do you mind if I take it?” she asks. “I can try to sell it to the couple over there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you so much!” the girl - Rachel, yes - exclaims, wrapping her arms around Jane’s throbbing midsection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane bids her adieu before making her way to the couple she’d seen - a man and a woman, the man having a mop of messy ginger hair atop his head and the woman being very, very small. She comes to a stop and clears her throat, and as they ignore her, she tries again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ahem.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man turns, and as she squints at his face, she notices his features are not at all </span>
  <em>
    <span>grown</span>
  </em>
  <span> like those of most men she’s seen. In fact, he’s hardly an adult from what she can tell. However, she ignores his youth and brandishes the flowers before her. “Hello!” she exclaims. “Would you care to buy some flowers?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man’s companion’s lips draw into a scowl. “Apologies,” she says, not seeming very apologetic, “Peter and I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” says Peter, elbowing his companion in the side. “Thanks, m’lady.” His tone is easily joking, and Jane returns his radiant grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Jane says. She offers him the flowers, a price tag wrapped around the stems, and she watches as he scans it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reaching into his pocket, Peter pulls out a few coins. “Thank you,” he says, dropping them into her outstretched hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane beams. “Thank you-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something stops her from finishing her sentence. Perhaps it’s the woman’s glare or the sun in her eyes, but Jane thinks it’s something more. Energy tingles within her fingers, almost as if they’ve fallen asleep, and she raises a single eyebrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter, too, has surprise written all over his face, from his wide eyes to his mouth opened in a small </span>
  <em>
    <span>O.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His partner appears confused, and she opens her mouth, presumably to ask a question, before Peter grins. “Have you got anywhere to be tonight?” he asks, and Jane is tempted to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, yes I do, </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of fear, but something stops her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she says truthfully, “although I should tell Rachel I’ll be gone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“May I come with you?” Peter asks, already starting after her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Peter-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hush, Cynthia,” Peter says with a grin. “She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>special.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Jane makes her way to Rachel’s booth, navigating through blobs of people, she can’t help but chuckle at the debate behind her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like all the other girls?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, like Catalina-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Peter, you are insufferable.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane grins at Rachel, dropping the change on the table. “I’ll be with them for the night, probably,” she says warmly. Glancing behind her, she finds Peter and Cynthia staring at her. “May I have your address so I can tell Rachel where I’ll be?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even after only three days, Jane can’t help but trust that Rachel is a good person. She attempts to put that trust into her expression, and in hopes it works, she allows her lower lip to tremble. “Please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter chuckles, a sound that effortlessly makes Jane’s grin return. “You didn’t have to ask twice,” he says, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a notepad before he scrawls something on it and hands it to Jane. “Here it is,” he sings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Giggling, Jane shakes her head and rips off the page before handing it to Rachel. “You’ll come if you need to, right?” she asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Rachel confirms, and she smiles her bright smile at Jane before beckoning for her to leave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to my humble abode.” Peter hums, fiddling with keys before he finds the right one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> abode,” Cynthia argues, “and it’s not humble.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Peter laughs. “Nonsense.” His barely-contained laughter lights up his entire tone, and he pushes the door open. “Be my guest, Miss..?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Jane pauses, searching her brain for any trace of a surname, but she lands on one from one of Rachel’s customers. “Simpson.” She steps into the house, smiling at Peter whilst praying he doesn’t detect her fib. “Jane Simpson.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cynthia grunts. “Okay, Miss Simpson,” she says, clucking her tongue after she says the name. “Peter thought you seemed like someone who’s already here, so I guess we can figure that out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane bites back a tired, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and nods. “That’s fine,” she says, following the example Peter and Cynthia set by dropping her shoes by the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After following the two into a room with two couches, she sits when she is offered a seat, and she watches when Peter’s grin widens. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Catalina!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he shouts. “Come down here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a thud from what Jane assumes is upstairs, and a Glowing shape comes tumbling down, a pen in hand. “Yes, Peter- Oh- Oh my-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” says Jane. “I’m Jane. I’m assuming you’re Catalina?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You- you </span>
  <em>
    <span>Glow-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I?” Jane glances down at her hands, which seem like the same hands she’s seen for the past few days. Granted, she has no memory of before, and she has no idea if everyone glows or if it’s just her. “I don’t see it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catalina reaches into her pocket and hands Jane a square device oddly reminiscent of a mobile phone. “Look at the screen,” she says, “and you’ll see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane squints at it. “Yeah, I don’t-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pauses. There is a faint silver outline of a finger - the shape of Jane’s finger. She gasps, dropping the device in her lap, and she raises an eyebrow at Peter and Cynthia, who stare at her in return.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re taking this better than I thought you would,” Peter muses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s a Reformer, by the way.” Cynthia nods as if she’s completely sure of it, which, Jane thinks, she might very well be. “It’s not a mobile phone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane lets out a small, “aw,” before picking up the device and handing it back to Catalina, who dutifully inspects it for damage. “So, I glow,” Jane says, shrugging. “What does that even mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>means</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re not normal,” Cynthia says briskly. “In fact, it means that you’re the same sort of person Catalina over there is - someone who is not necessarily human, but not a ghost, either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane chuckles. “I’d hope I’m not a ghost.” She holds her hands out in front of her, peering at them. “I feel my heart beating, so I must be alive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spirits are very much alive,” Peter interjects, “but they don’t usually have such a tangible form. And I must say,” he adds, “your Glow is strange, just like Catalina’s. It’s not normal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Peter, how many times must I say that none of this is normal?” Cynthia crosses her arms over her chest and sits on the arm of the couch. “Because I will say it again-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can the two of you stop arguing?” Catalina asks tentatively. “Jane. Do you… remember things?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane shrugs. “On the contrary, I don’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catalina nods. “It was - is - the same for me. I can’t even remember my own surname.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane thinks for a moment about admitting that she came up with one on the fly but decides better of it. “Well, I remembered that my surname is Simpson,” she says matter-of-factly, lifting her chin. “I don’t know why you didn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Apparently, the woman in France didn’t remember her surname, either,” Catalina adds. “I don’t know why you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woman in France?” Jane sits up straight, brushing her hair out of her face. “There are more people?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter sits on the edge of the table in front of the couch, earning a glare from Cynthia. “Yes. We are part of a… corporation, you might call it, called Renaissance. We fight evil.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t ‘evil’ quite subjective?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh.” Peter shrugs. “It is what you make it. I think most people would agree that demons murdering people are evil, no?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fair point, go on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, this branch here in England-” Peter waves his hand vaguely as if it symbolises England. “-is called Bannister. It’s cool, I promise. You don’t want to be by the stuck-up people who work at Éphémère but don’t get anything done or the people at Estrella who don’t even say anything when we need to talk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You sound a bit egotistical yourself,” Jane retorts, grinning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter laughs. “I suppose everyone is. Nevertheless, you can see the Glow, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gesturing towards Catalina, Jane feels her lips pulling into a smirk. “On her? That yellow aura? Yes. I can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Welcome, then,” Peter says. “You’ve got a place to stay for however long you need.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cynthia nods, a begrudging show of her acceptance, and smiles. “Yes. Welcome to Renaissance, Jane.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Jane responds, and she watches with wide eyes as Catalina holds out a hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” says the other woman, and Jane forgets the earlier pain in her stomach as she rises to follow Catalina. “Let me show you around.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for reading (and waiting with me on this, it took <em>ages</em>. I hope you enjoy where this story is going! Feel free to scream at me at my <a href="https://theleastrelevantkatherine.tumblr.com">tumblr!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Zoom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Intermission is often something of great need. </p><p>A ghost is missing, and the representatives of each branch of Renaissance are called to answer (via Zoom, of course). Poor Henrique is in the midst of it, unwillingly forced to unmute, but hey, at least he gets some ideas of what might have happened.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Join Zoom meeting. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The notification blinks up at Henrique, and with a heavy sigh, he dismisses the notification on his phone before opening his laptop. He clicks on the Zoom app and taps his fingers against his desk as it takes aeons to open. Finally, he types in his name, his fingers a blur on the keyboard, and he keys in the code he’s memorised before entering the meeting’s password.</p><p> </p><p>Once he is let into the meeting, he stares at four faces blinking up at him. Cynthia Rose represents Bannister in England, and Henrique finds himself wrinkling his nose at the prospect of being on a Zoom call with Cynthia, who never wants to have fun. Isabella Garcia, from Spain, represents Estrella. Oskar Schmidt twiddles his thumbs, and Henrique feels his lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as he sees his German partner-in-crime from Weltschmerz. </p><p> </p><p>But of course, there is always something to make matters worse, and Henrique gulps as he notices the imposing form of the head of Renaissance himself - Mr Harry Hemsworth. </p><p> </p><p>“Good day,” Hemsworth greets, his voice stern as it always is. “We meet today to discuss very unusual findings in the districts of Bannister and Éphémère. Ms Adams, speak.”</p><p> </p><p>Hemsworth mutes himself and Cynthia unmutes. Henrique grins when he sees silly, good-natured Peter behind her, but realising this is indeed a work call, he forces his lips into a firm line.</p><p> </p><p>“Two women have mysteriously appeared in London. Both possess a Glow. Their Glows are not the Glows of demons, so they cannot be shape-shifters. Furthermore, neither of them seem to have much recollection of their past although Miss Jane Simpson seems to recall her surname.” Cynthia leans back in her chair, revealing Peter’s tie-dye scarf.”Both could see Glows emanating from one another even without a Reformer.”</p><p> </p><p>With that, Cynthia mutes; Hemsworth unmutes.</p><p> </p><p>“Interesting,” is all he has to say before he jots something on a notepad. “Henrique?”</p><p> </p><p>Henrique steadies his breathing, praying neither Anne nor anyone else can pick locks, and with a shaking hand, he mouses over to the unmute button and clicks it.</p><p> </p><p>After a moment of hesitation, he smiles. “Well…” Henrique pauses. “I was driving through a forest on patrol when I met a young woman, Anne, who, like the ladies Ms Adams mentioned, Glows. She, however, Glowed the colour of a con- of a demon, so I was concerned until I had good enough evidence she was, well, not a demon. In fact, it seemed like she had a near-deadly encounter involving her head and a possible lack of it, and I do not think a demon would have had human blood pouring from its wounds.” Henrique shrugs. “It has formed into a nasty scab, but neither of us are quite certain of what may have caused it.”</p><p> </p><p>He presses mute before Hemsworth can prompt him to, exhales through gritted teeth, and stares at the screen as Hemsworth takes notes. </p><p> </p><p>The sound of pencil against paper fills his ears for what seems to be an eternity, but finally, Hemsworth glances up. “Thank you.” His gaze turns towards the ceiling for a moment as if he is in deep thought, but by the time Henrique takes his next breath, Hemsworth is back on track.</p><p> </p><p>“Here at Headquarters, we’ve heard that Bannister’s watchers have lost track of the Hampton Court ghost. Is this true?”</p><p> </p><p>Cynthia blinks. “I’ve heard no reports, sir-”</p><p> </p><p>“That will be enough, Ms Adams.” Hemsworth mutes her. “Either way, we have just lost track of a rather old and important spectre, and I trust Ms Adams will be taking action by sending recruits from Bannister to search. If you’re still uncertain of what the Hampton Court ghost looks like, Ms Adams, you are searching for a Tudor-era girl, perhaps one with a missing head…”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>At that, Henrique fights the growing urge to turn off his camera and let a mad grin spread across his face. A missing head… What about… a reattached head?</p><p> </p><p>“...Howard, and died on the 13th of February, back in 1542…”</p><p> </p><p>Henrique favours his own thoughts to the droning voice of Harry Hemsworth. He doubts this Hampton Court ghost has gotten away almost as much as he doubts his father’s proposed dislike of sweets, but his thoughts keep flitting back to Anne. Perhaps, he thinks, the nearly-beheaded woman’s condition could give him a lead - no, give <em> them </em> a lead. They are a team now, whether they like it or not.</p><p> </p><p>“Have there been any occurrences worth noting in the districts of Estrella or Weltschmerz?” Hemsworth chews the cap of a pen in a very unprofessional manner.</p><p> </p><p>Isabella shakes her head while Oskar takes the opportunity to unmute. “Of course not, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>With a cold smile, Hemsworth stretches, a button on his waistcoat popping. “That concludes our meeting for now. Adjourned.”</p><p> </p><p>Henrique leaves the meeting far more quickly than he had joined it, and in a rush, he shoves his chair away from his desk and begins to stumble out of the office, gradually picking up speed until he sprints out the door. He barely has time to stop before barrelling into Anne, who is, once again, reading while walking. Any other time, he would chastise her on the dangers of such an act, but for now, he smiles warmly, simply glad to not have to walk any further.</p><p> </p><p>“Anne,” he says, “may I ask you a few questions?”</p><p> </p><p>The woman in question stops herself from rolling her eyes - Henrique was once around women often; he can <em> tell - </em> and sighs. “Sure,” she says, resigned. She flips the book so the pages are facing Henrique and the cover is down (what is she hiding? what is this book that Henrique does not even <em> remember </em> seeing?) and offers a tiny smile. These smiles are the only things people at Éphémère use to portray kindness; it seems it has rubbed off on her, too.</p><p> </p><p>Henrique glances around the hallway, and when he knows for certain that no one will follow (there is never anyone here, though), he pulls her along. “What do you know about ghosts?” </p><p> </p><p>“Not much.” Anne shrugs, wincing. “Well, other than what I’ve found in the library, but it’s not like any of that is easily readable.”</p><p> </p><p>Henrique nods with a sigh. “Well… keep your eyes peeled,” he says, knowing that in all honesty, it will be <em> he </em> who keeps his eyes peeled. “The people in England lost a ghost. Idiots.” He scoffs, not completely meaning it.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure. I'll make an attempt to remember." Anne narrows her eyes. "Is there anything else?"<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He is tempted to ask her what more she could have to do other than answer questions that could hopefully lead to some of <em>her</em> questions being answered, but he holds his tongue. "Yes - apparently this ghost that they lost... I think she might listen to you if we ever find her. Would you be up to helping?" Henrique holds his breath, tapping his foot and staring at the window ahead of him.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, of course," Anne answers, her tone tight. "Why would I not be?"<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"Er, I never said that." Henrique laughs tiredly.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm just messing with you, don't worry about it."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh. Right. Well, then, I'll see you around."</p><p> </p><p>It was too easy, Henrique thinks as he heads towards the library, leaving her behind. Far too easy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! I hope you have a great day.</p><p>Feel free to check out my tumblr, <a href="https://a-portrait-made-with-words.tumblr.com">https://a-portrait-made-with-words.tumblr.com</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. His Lordship, Kai</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In Germany, Anna is so, so tired of the sun. Luckily, Oskar and his dog, Kai, come to help her out - and maybe she'll help them, too.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Anna never expected to feel such an odd ache in her bones, but then again, she has no idea what exactly she expected before opening her eyes to the angry glare of the sun - that being, her entire life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No - she just woke up on a park bench. Her back throbs from where a nail poked into it. She glances upwards at the sky, shielding her face with her hand. How long has she been here? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a shaky breath, she attempts to stand. She rises, albeit a bit wobbly, to her feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The park around her is fairly quiet. A fountain sprays water up in the air, and two people, one with a long scarf trailing behind her and the other with short purple hair spiked in all directions, stare up at it in apparent awe. Another person strolls the concrete pathways with their dog on a leash. The scene would be far more peaceful if Anna had the slightest clue why she stood there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She drums her fingers against her thigh before slipping her hands in the pockets of her coat, her breath fogging up in the air before her. It may not be frigid, but a cold front has definitely come through the area within the past few days - the air is wet, as if it has recently rained.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The person with the dog is soon on the sidewalk in front of her. A rectangular device is in front of them, and they tap away at it as their dog sniffs the ground. The device beeps, and the person’s eyebrows raise. They turn to face Anna, their eyes wide. “Hello.” They hold out their hand. “My name is Oskar. You look familiar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna narrows her eyes, staring at Oskar. Their lips twist into a broad grin. A yellow pin on gleams on their coat, reading </span>
  <em>
    <span>he/him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Anna watches curiously as he tells his dog to sit. “I cannot say I have ever seen you before in my life.” She fidgets with some coins in her pocket. “Although… I do not think I would know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lack of memory?” Oskar guesses. “Stand still.” He holds up the object and points a flashing point on it at Anna. Before the woman can even respond, he nods. “Yes, that is what I expected.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How would you know about my faulty memory?” Anna’s brow furrows. Something feels wrong, very wrong. She takes her hands out of her pockets and places them on her hips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oskar takes a deep breath as if he is ready to blow a boat across a lake with the sheer force of his breath alone. “Two women in England and one in France have a similar condition.” He dismisses her question with a wave of his hand. “I saw you blinking groggily and Glowing on my Reformer -” He points at the device with his free hand. “-so I jumped to conclusions. I think I’m right.” The expression on his face lets Anna know he almost always believes himself to be right, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighs. “Well, Oskar, did any of those women wake with a pain that made them feel a million years old?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oskar gives a small </span>
  <em>
    <span>tsk</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Not that I am aware of,” he muses, “although Henrique did say the French woman was barely keeping her head on - literally, I’m afraid.” His lips draw into a firm line. “Oh - and your name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anna.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No surname?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna shakes her head, watching in befuddlement as Oskar’s smile widens into a brazen grin. “I knew it.” He nearly drops his Reformer as his hand shakes excitedly. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of her eye, Anna notes the other people - girls, she thinks - staring at her and Oskar. The girl with the scarf freezes, and after staring with wide eyes for a second longer, she turns and says something to her friend. No longer being watched, Anna feels as if she’s alone even though Oskar is standing in front of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Say…” Oskar’s voice draws her attention back to him. “Does the name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Howard</span>
  </em>
  <span> ring any bells? Or the year 1542?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna shakes her head, bewilderment rushing through her almost as much as the slight dizziness she’d initially felt upon rising from the bench. “No. Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oskar swears underneath his breath. Anna raises an eyebrow, and he ducks his head. “We’re missing a spectre,” he mumbles, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment as his words jumble together. “I thought maybe you could help me, somehow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna shifts on her feet. An ache shoots up her legs, and she bites back a groan. “I’d like to, anyway,” she decides. She smiles a tiny smile as the two people come into her view again. “Yes. I’ll help in any way I can - what else is there for me to do? Sit here forever?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oskar chuckles. “You make a very valid point.” He fiddles with a sticker on the back of his Reformer and bends down to scratch his dog’s ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ahem.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oskar turns, his mouth opening in surprise at the two teenagers who have walked up to him. The shorter one grins. “I like your pronoun pin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks!” Oskar’s eyes are lit up with apparent joy, and all of a sudden, he seems like a dog getting a treat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other teenager stares at Anna, her lips twisting into a bitter half-smile. “I know you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna rolls her eyes but gives the girl a small chuckle. “Everyone says that.” Her words are clipped - who is this person?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anna, right?” The girl runs a hand through her ponytail before tightening her scarf. Even after she brings her hands to her sides, she does not stop fidgeting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna watches as something sparks in the teenager’s eyes, perhaps a deeper spark of recognition, and she bites her lip. “How do you know my name?” It takes nearly all of her willpower to hold back a grin - maybe this girl really does know her - or at least did before she lost her memories.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your posture.” The girl shrugs minutely - for a tall girl, she seems to want to take up as little space as possible. “The conflict in your eyes. The held-back smile on your lips. I think I knew you, once.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember you.” Anna keeps her eyes on the girl before her as she nods, seemingly okay with that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay,” the girl responds. “I just… recognised you.” On an outer layer, she seems completely nonchalant, as if she’s practised this demeanour for years. Still, Anna can hear a hidden bit of bitterness tinging her tone. The girl smiles worriedly at her before glancing at her purple-haired companion. “Dess and I should probably go,” she mumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna nods. Sadly, the name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dess</span>
  </em>
  <span> rings no bells. She sighs. “Well,” she says, “I suppose it’s nice to meet you. Meet you again. I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s wonderful,” says the girl, not sounding as if she entirely believes it. She turns to see Dess beckoning to her. “Coming!” she calls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a weary glance back, she offers a sad smile to Anna. “God be with you, Anna.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your… name? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anna opens her mouth, but she finds that no words come out as the girl with the scarf sprints after Dess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oskar walks back to her, a smile on his face. “Dess was nice. How was the other one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna shrugs numbly, feeling as if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> know something, anything, about the girl with the scarf. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She follows Oskar to a street which they cross before heading in a different direction. The dog bounds along happily, its tail wagging.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Say, what’s its name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oskar spins to face her and grins, continuing to walk (only backwards, this time). “This, my dear friend,” he says, waving his free arm at the dog, “is His Lordship, Kai. Treat him with the utmost respect. He may not bite, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>do.” At Anna’s appalled expression, he giggles. “Eh. Mostly kidding.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mostly,” Anna repeats, her lips twisted in a wry smirk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mostly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continue the walk in silence until Oskar pulls out keys and inserts one of them into the lock of the door of a townhome. It clicks, and he swings the door open, beckoning for Anna to enter as His Lordship, Kai, leaps inside. “Have a seat,” Oskar instructs, gesturing towards a few chairs surrounding a table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna sits, watching as Oskar diligently unleashes Kai, who leaps into Anna’s lap and begins to lick her face. Laughter spills out of her lips, and she leans back against the fabric of the couch to try to avoid Kai’s affection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Down!” Oskar squeaks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dog sits on Anna’s lap, eyes wide as if to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I did nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a chuckle, Oskar sits in front of her, his dark eyes shining. “Apologies.” He touches his buzz-cut hair. “Kai is like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… Thanks for coming.” Oskar smiles sheepishly. “I guess I should explain a little?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That would be nice,” Anna confirms. “I may understand a bit, but…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Oskar begins, “I work at a company called Renaissance. That’s not really important. It’s pretty small, but I’m the head of the German branch - Weltschmerz. Basically, ghosts and things like that exist. We, er, we look for them. And stuff. Fight demons. Yeah. And, like, the whole thing with people and memory loss? I think it has something to do with the supernatural. Which means I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> have something to do with the supernatural.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna coughs to disguise her choking on her own breath. “That… is a lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoops.” Oskar chuckles. “And since this one ghost is missing and could be anywhere, I saw you Glowing - yes, I can see that - and I thought you might be able to help. Only if you’re willing, of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told you I am.” Anna leans into the cushions. Her headache has already begun to fade, and the pain in her legs is now a dull throbbing that slowly turns into fatigue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’re sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Anna confirms again. “You don’t need to keep asking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Okay, okay… Thanks.” Oskar smiles at her. “I’ll teach you all I can and then we can start looking for the missing ghost.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Anna feels the edges of her lips curl into a grin. “That sounds good to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We start tomorrow.” Oskar chuckles. "Deal?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Deal."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Finally uploaded!! Feel free to let me know what you thought or just talk to me, haha. My tumblr is <a href="https://a-portrait-made-with-words.tumblr.com">here</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Katze</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Katherine knows more than she's expected to. Then again, those at Renaissance weren't sure what to expect. Ghosts haven't come back from ghosthood, not until now. </p><p>Luckily, the first person to find her is a girl her age who happens to know a little about the supernatural - and, thankfully, medicine.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been so long! Apologies for the wait, and thanks to anyone who reads this for sticking through =]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For someone who is barely used to her own body, Katherine sure has many memories.</p><p> </p><p>For instance, she recalls a curly-haired boy seeing her and bursting into tears. She can easily remember the guilt from that day as well as the wish that had flooded through her: <em> Let me disappear. Please. </em> </p><p> </p><p>She remembers strolling through corridors past midnight, always careful to avoid anyone, just in case she might be seen. She even remembers some of the wars the country has fought.</p><p> </p><p>But she does not remember exactly why she strolls these halls as a ghost; she does not remember exactly why she is <em>dead</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She knows <em> how </em> she died. That much is obvious. She is not sure of <em> when</em>, though. <em> Where </em> is understood, given the many executions she has witnessed.</p><p> </p><p>But what did she <em>do</em> to deserve death? She feels young, after all... She <em>is</em> young. She knows it.</p><p> </p><p>Right?</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dess brought her to a modern doctor after she noticed the blood surrounding - and gushing out of - her throat. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Okay, look,” the purple-haired girl said, “I know this is weird. Clearly, though, she’s as confused as I am. Can you help me, Mark?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The man behind the counter sighed and led the girls to a room, where he handed Katherine a heavy coat. “Put this on so we can do an X-Ray. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Katherine didn’t ask what an X-Ray was. She followed the man’s instructions, flinching when his fingers brushed against her shoulders, and she nearly lost her balance multiple times. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There were a few clicking noises, and then Katherine stumbled away from the camera-like thing. Was an X-Ray a camera? </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> She leant against Dess, blinking her eyes closed, and she wondered how she’d gotten from Hampton Court to </em> here <em> , wherever here was. She’d not been trying to leave the palace. She’d simply disappeared and women up in as much pain as she remembered throughout her relatively long afterlife. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The doctor - Mark? - cleared his throat. “Well… Dess, she seems human. That’s good, you didn’t bring us a demon. But… There’s evidence of a snapped neck here.” He jots something on a notepad. “Huge amounts of scar tissue. Your friend may be human, but she should be dead.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Katherine cringed. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “No offence.” Mark shrugged. “I didn’t mean it like that.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “...none taken.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>She eventually told Dess about her ghosthood… ex-ghosthood? The purple-haired teen had promised not to tell anyone unless Katherine told her she could, and she had then taken her shopping. They bought a scarf to cover Katherine’s scar - although, really, Katherine still thinks she looks tough with her scar. She likes to look tough. Maybe one day she can command an entire room just by looking tough.</p><p> </p><p>To make her seem even <em> less </em> tough, Dess took to calling her, “Kit”. <br/><br/></p><p>(Katherine secretly likes it and thinks it’s a cute name. She’ll be damned if she tells anyone, though).</p><p> </p><p>She got to stay with Dess and Mark - Mark turned out to be Dess’s older cousin: Dr Markus Obermeyer.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I wish I had a cool older cousin,” Katherine groaned when she found out that the flat was owned by Mark. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “No, you don’t,” Dess replied. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And then, the other day, they were on a walk at a nearby park, and the weirdest thing happened.</p><p> </p><p>Katherine <em> recognised </em> someone.</p><p> </p><p>Now, as she thinks back on it, she wishes she gave Anna her name. Maybe she herself would have been recognised then.</p><p> </p><p>A knock sounds at the door to the bedroom she and Dess share. Throughout the past four weeks, Dess has learnt to knock. Well, she’s kind enough to understand that Katherine doesn’t like to be taken by surprise for some reason.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?” Katherine responds.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s me.” Dess turns the doorknob and walks in. She immediately pulls off her blazer and wipes a sheen of sweat off her forehead. “It’s warmer today,” she complains.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds lovely.” Katherine chuckles, adjusting her position on her cot.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not. I’m sweaty and gross.”</p><p> </p><p>“Delicious.”</p><p> </p><p>A discarded shirt lands on Katherine’s face. “Shut <em> up</em>, you disgusting ex-ghost!” Dess exclaims, her words completely changed by the barely-held-back laughter evident in her tone. </p><p> </p><p>“No.” Katherine tosses the shirt back in the direction it came from, wrinkling her nose (even though it just smelled like perfume). “I won’t listen to youuuuu.”</p><p> </p><p>Dess smirks at her after pulling on a hoodie. “Your loss.”</p><p> </p><p>Katherine feels a pout pulling at the edges of her lips as she stands. “Can we go on another walk?” she asks, hating how there’s a note to her tone that makes her feel like she might drop to her knees and plead. “I’ve not been out in <em> forever. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“We went out the other day,” Dess argues.</p><p> </p><p>“And I’m tired of laying here,” Katherine whines.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, fine.” Dess rolls her eyes. “Let me go make sure it’s okay with Markus.” She tosses her skirt behind her, glaring down at her trousers. She then exits the room with a huff.</p><p> </p><p>While Katherine knows it’s not right to eavesdrop, she’s been doing it for years if not centuries. She can’t quite help herself from leaning against the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>“Markus!” Dess’s voice echoes throughout the flat. “Markus, where are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Dorothea!” Markus answers, using Dess’s full name - right, Dess usually calls him Mark. “What does my lovely little cousin need?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine if we go out, yeah? Kit wanted some exercise.”<br/><br/></p><p>“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Let me know if you see… Oskar again.” Something changes in Markus’s tone. He seems… almost happier when mentioning Oskar. Huh.</p><p> </p><p>Katherine flops back on her cot, disinterested in the rest of the conversation. If it’s warm out… She fiddles with the hems of her sleeves. She probably won’t want to wear her scarf. But is there something she can cover her scar with?</p><p> </p><p>Her mind says no, and when Dess pokes her head in the room to tell Kit of Markus saying yes, the girl leaves the scarf on a chair.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll be fine.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>The park is the same as last time. Not too populated, but very pretty. Today, though, the sun beats down on the girls even more, and Katherine watches as Dess wipes a sheen of sweat from her forehead.</p><p> </p><p>“I told you it was awful.” Dess meets her gaze with a glare.</p><p> </p><p>Katherine chuckles deviously. “And as I said, delicious. Sweat <em> is </em> salty.”</p><p> </p><p>She ducks, barely avoiding Dess’s thwack before the purple-haired girl stops walking, gaze trained on a figure in the distance.</p><p> </p><p>He’s familiar. Sort of short, for a dude, and with a familiar buzz cut. And, well, a great dog. </p><p> </p><p>“Is that His Lordship, Kai?” Dess asks, starstruck.</p><p> </p><p>“Who?” Katherine responds. She raises an eyebrow at Dess, who is already running towards the man and his dog.</p><p> </p><p>“Him!” Dess laughs, the sound carrying in the wind. “Come on!”</p><p> </p><p>They come to an abrupt stop in front of the man. As Katherine surveys his appearance, she notices a pin on his jacket - <em> he/him. </em> Is it… pronouns? She thinks so.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, hello, Dess.” The man’s voice is… kinder than Katherine had expected. The fight-or-flight instinct that was sending off alarms in her head calms, if only a little. “Is this your friend..?” He holds out his hand, a nervous smile on his lips. “Hi, I’m Oskar. And you..?”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t really want to give out her name, but she has no reason not to. She takes his gloved hand and shakes it. “Katherine.”</p><p> </p><p>Something changes in Oskar’s gaze. It’s a minuscule change, something she wouldn't have noticed had she not been making eye contact, but she pulls her hand away quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“So it <em> is </em> you.” Oskar chuckles. “They’ve been looking for you, you know? Everyone here has.”</p><p> </p><p>Katherine raises an eyebrow. <em> Sure they have. </em> People can’t even <em> see </em> ghosts, anyway! How could they have been looking for her? Did they even know she existed!?</p><p> </p><p>Apparently.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, hey… don’t scare her, Oskar!” Dess pushes her aside and glares up at the man. “You may have a wonderful dog and a good personality, but that does <em> not </em> mean you can scare people without consequence!”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not scaring her,” Oskar argues. “I’m just letting her know we’ve been looking!”<br/><br/>Dess crosses her arms over her chest and glares, squinting against the sun. “Then at least explain who ‘you’ is, dummy!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh-” Oskar at least has the decency to seem ashamed. “Right. Sorry. You know me, Dess. Er, Katherine, I’m Oskar. I work at this place-”</p><p> </p><p>“You work at the park?” Katherine interrupts.</p><p> </p><p>“Renaissance, and we, well, we deal with the non-human - ghosts, demons, that sort of thing. So… we knew you weren’t… at Hampton Court.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I wasn’t at Hampton Court. You know, sometimes I wanted out. I missed being able to actually run… I’m glad I can now.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you can help us,” Oskar says, his words nearly jumbled with how quickly he shoves them out of his mouth. “Dess and her family… they work for Renaissance, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t come back to life to work.” Katherine feels her nose wrinkle in distaste and attempts, likely in vain, to straighten it. “Especially not for people hunting me down-”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not like that-”</p><p> </p><p>“-or worse, hoping to imprison me. That does not sound like fun.”</p><p> </p><p>Dess glances up at her. “He’s right about one thing. It’s not like that. They’re supposed to keep an eye on ghosts and stuff. So when you escaped… came back, whatever… People were scared, from what I could tell. Having a missing ghost means they failed, Kit - if you go with me to his flat, I’ll fight anyone who tries to hurt you, and we’ll just let people know you’re okay..?”</p><p> </p><p>The image of tiny, dainty Dess fighting someone makes Katherine’s lips quirk up in the beginnings of a smile, and laughter pours out of her. “Okay, fine,” she says between giggles, “but do be careful.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course!” says Dess, curling her hands into fists. “I can fight <em> anything! </em>Even a demon that comes our way!”</p><p> </p><p>As Oskar begins to lead them back to wherever he lives, His Lordship at his feet, he tsks. “Not all demons are bad, Dess.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Dess insists, “but still.”</p><p> </p><p>A woman - the same woman from the last time Katherine went to the park, actually - is waiting for them at Oskar’s door, or what Katherine <em> assumes </em> to be Oskar’s door. “You’re late,” she deadpans.</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed.” Oskar chuckles. “This is Katherine. The ghost, you know? And Dess-” He gestures to the purple-haired teen. “-remembers me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course she does,” <em> Anna </em> says. Katherine can remember Anna, at least, she can remember some parts of her. She can remember the perpetual kindness in those grey - no longer grey, apparently - eyes. “I am sorry to say that I still do not remember <em> you.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Dess shoots Katherine a glance full of what seems to be pity. Kit musters a smile. “That’s fine,” she lies, ignoring the twisting sensation in her chest, where she assumes her heart is. “Really, it’s fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Anna’s brow furrows, but she nods and gives a small smile. “I suppose you should all come inside.”</p><p> </p><p>Dess goes first, shuffling her feet as if embarrassed. She probably is, Katherine thinks, embarrassed to be dragging her friend here.</p><p> </p><p>Katherine ducks her head and follows. </p><p> </p><p>Kai finds his bed and immediately curls into a tight ball while Katherine and Dess take off their shoes. Oskar closes the door behind them and begins to speak.</p><p> </p><p>Despite his previously cheery demeanour, his words run together. Is it stress? It might be. Katherine isn’t sure.</p><p> </p><p>She only listens to what he says when she hears her name.</p><p> </p><p>“Katherine here can help me… not embarrass myself, if she wants. It’s completely voluntary, but are you willing to, like, sit there?” Oskar raises an eyebrow, fidgeting with his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.” Katherine glances at the chair selected for her. “Here?”</p><p> </p><p>Oskar nods. “Mhm. No need to pose, I just… need proof you’re here. You don’t even look like a ghost.” He sighs. “If only I were interested in anything before the year 1750. I don’t have any dresses that would be convincing.”</p><p> </p><p>Anna laughs. It quickly dissolves into a fit of coughing. “I’ll need some water,” she mumbles before ducking out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>Katherine rolls her eyes. “I exist. Is that not proof enough?” She thinks it is. After all, how can one be physically here and not be here at the same time?”</p><p> </p><p>“Good question,” Dess offers, “but sit.”</p><p> </p><p>Katherine does as is asked of her. It feels wrong, if she’s honest with herself, but Oskar does not seem as if he means her any harm. In fact, the way he fumbles with his phone-like device tells her that even if he <em> does </em> mean harm, she will be fine. He lacks the dexterity to do anything.</p><p> </p><p>He points the camera of the phone thing at her. “Smile,” he says warmly, and a flash from the camera coats her in light.</p><p> </p><p>Well, and her own hands coat her in a different light she’s never seen before, not even as a ghost, but that’s irrelevant, she supposes.</p><p> </p><p>“Perfect. Want to see the picture?” </p><p> </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>Oskar holds out the phone. On the screen, Katherine sees herself surrounded by a rosy glow - the same one she had noticed. “How did that… pick the glow up?”</p><p> </p><p>“The Glow, kid.” She doesn’t like being called ‘kid’. Should she tell him? “This thing, a Reformer, can pick it up. It’s how I noticed your friend, Anna, wasn’t… well, mortal.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite her ‘kid’-ishness, she <em> did </em> notice Oskar’s emphasis on the word Glow. “It’s important? The Glow?”</p><p> </p><p>Oskar nods fervently. “Very. It can distinguish between those who are human and those who are, well, <em> not.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“And the Reformer helps you see it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Some of us, and some mortals <em> can </em> see the Glow without a Reformer, but it’s super helpful anyway. It works like a mobile phone, and I can even download applications - you know what applications are, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Dess laughs as Katherine rolls her eyes. “Who do you think I am? A boomer?”</p><p> </p><p>Oskar gives a laugh and Dess’s palm strikes her forehead. <em> “No,” </em> Oskar says firmly. “But one can never know.” He drums his fingers against the chair’s armrest. “Do you have any more questions before I send this to Headquarters?”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shoot.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why do I Glow pink?”</p><p> </p><p>Oskar chews his lip in thought. “I don’t know. Everyone who’s shown up… <em> like you </em>, well, they’ve all Glowed a different colour. It’s not that dark in here or outside, so I doubt you could see it, but… The wall next to Anna.” He points, and Katherine notices that Anna has returned, leaning against the wall with a glass of water in hand. “What colour is it?”</p><p> </p><p>At first glance, it is grey. But… It seems more violet, now that she looks at it. “Er… purple?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s supposed to be grey. But with her Glow, it looks purple. She Glows red. I have no idea why.”</p><p> </p><p>“Interesting,” Katherine murmurs. “So that means you must wonder <em> what </em> we are if we’re not… anything seen before, and if our Glow is unique.”</p><p> </p><p>The look in Oskar’s eyes tells her she’s smart, that no one else has put two and two together. Perhaps it’s because she’s <em> been </em> human-ish for so long that she’s so quick. She’s used to being here. She’s been conscious for so many years she’s forgotten half of them, and that might also play a role.</p><p> </p><p>Oskar grins at her. “Exactly. But none of you are science experiments - so of course we won’t stalk you or anything. I figure anyone’s a better ally than an enemy, and it seems Harry - whoops, Mr Hemsworth - at Headquarters wants anyone ‘out of the ordinary’ to be <em> with </em> us, not against us. Not that I know why, though, he’s been really quiet about that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wonder why,” Anna adds. “It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to know what he wants to do.”</p><p> </p><p>Katherine hears the thinly veiled sarcasm, something very reminiscent of the bits of the Anna she remembers. </p><p> </p><p>“Almost.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, shouldn’t <em> Katze </em> and Dess be off by now? Surely Markus will want to know where they are.” Anna’s weary gaze darts to the girls and to Oskar, whose cheeks have become slightly tinted. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, of course,” he says. “Thanks for listening, girls. Dess, you know how to contact me.”</p><p> </p><p>Dess nods. “I do.” She bends down to scratch Kai’s ears. <em> “Good boyyy!” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Bye,” Katherine mumbles as she stands up. The house is nice. Oskar and Anna are nice. But does she <em> want </em> to help Oskar? For some reason, that is what she thinks is the reason she came here. Oskar wants help of some sort. Doesn’t he have Anna to help her?</p><p> </p><p>She pulls on her shoes and steps into the bright sunlight, shielding her eyes from the glint. “Ew,” she grunts.</p><p> </p><p>“I knew you would think that. I did, too,” Dess says from next to her. “Luckily, it’s not that long of a walk home.”</p><p> </p><p>Dess is right, Katherine knows that. </p><p><br/>However, she has a feeling that the walk will seem <em> much </em> longer as she ponders Anna’s use of the old nickname <em> Katze </em> and remembers the fondness that was used in her voice long, long ago.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments always make my day, but feel no need to do so. Have an awesome day, and thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Isabella's Favourite Entity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>If Catherine Parr could have been anywhere other than Alicante, she would have gone there in a heartbeat. Or, really, anywhere other than a <em>beach</em>. The sand? Not her thing. However, a woman named Isabella soon saves her from the sand monsters, and she soon learns that she is <em>not</em> human - and she is okay with that, and okay with working for Renaissance, if it means she never has to set foot on the sand again.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hot sun beats down on her back, causing rivulets of sweat to run down her forehead.</p><p> </p><p>Honestly, it is <em> very </em> annoying.</p><p> </p><p>Cathy might not remember much, but she remembers she doesn’t quite like the heat.</p><p> </p><p>She also remembers a vague feeling of illness, and of course, her first name.</p><p> </p><p>She’s been standing on the beach for what seems like a few hours, but it feels like she’s been there for days. The heat does <em> not </em> relent. The ocean breeze helps just a little bit; it lifts her hair off the back of her neck, but even that is not enough.</p><p> </p><p>Cathy thinks she would give quite a lot just to get out of the sweltering heat. Her clothes stick to her, but not as if it were raining. No, her own <em> sweat </em> is making them stick to her very skin.</p><p> </p><p>It is <em> disgusting. </em></p><p> </p><p>During her few hours of consciousness, she has managed to rid her appearance of any sand, and she has also managed to scare away a few innocent crabs. No one has attempted to speak with her, so she has kept to herself. </p><p> </p><p>She slips her feet into the sand, her shoes in her hands, and she takes a deep breath - at the very least, she can <em> try </em> to be comfortable. She is <em> so </em> tempted to wade into the ocean, but… </p><p> </p><p>Something stops her. The water does not look <em> peaceful </em> at all. Instead, it appears menacing, as if it wants to take her into its rough, angry grasp and never let her go.</p><p> </p><p>A shiver runs down her spine.</p><p> </p><p>A light shove sends her stumbling forward, and her toes nearly touch a wave before she turns around to scream at her attacker-</p><p> </p><p>-who seems very, very appalled by her own strength.</p><p> </p><p><em> “¡Lo siento!” </em> the woman exclaims, rushing towards Cathy with wide eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Cathy shrugs, not meeting her gaze. She may not know this language, but she can <em> guess </em> what the woman means. She wants to tell her that it is okay, but…</p><p> </p><p>She allows herself a small smile and gazes into the newcomer’s warm eyes. They are the eyes of a person who is on a mission; Cathy can recognise that. But <em> what </em> mission, and does Cathy now have anything to do with it?</p><p> </p><p>“You… don’t speak Spanish, do you?” The woman glances down at Cathy. </p><p> </p><p>Cathy does not remember being this short.</p><p> </p><p>She really <em> doesn’t </em> remember much, though. Perhaps this is all some elaborate hoax and she will be allowed away from the sand soon. Perhaps she will be brought into a nice, cool home and allowed to sleep…</p><p> </p><p>But that will not happen right now, so Cathy stares at the woman with a tight-lipped smile on her lips. “I suppose not.”</p><p> </p><p>The woman <em> laughs </em> and then offers a small smile. “Hemsworth <em> told </em> me I was expecting an <em> Englishwoman. </em>” With a smirk, she holds out her hand. “I am Isabella Garcia. I represent a company called Renaissance here in Spain.”</p><p> </p><p>“I… am in Spain?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. That’s why I spoke Spanish.”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy stares at the woman - Isabella - with her jaw agape. “I…”</p><p> </p><p>“Your name?” Isabella prompts, moving her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Right-” Cathy takes the woman’s hand. “I’m Catherine - but I think I like Cathy better.”</p><p> </p><p>Isabella’s eyes crinkle at the edges as she smiles. “You aren’t certain?”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> like </em> Cathy better!” Cathy stands up straighter, grimacing at the feeling of the sand in between her toes.</p><p> </p><p>“Good. Certainty is good.” Isabella glances at Cathy, her gaze travelling over the smaller woman. “Would you like somewhere… not here? You seem awfully hot.”</p><p> </p><p>It takes most of Cathy’s willpower for her to resist begging. “Yes, that would be nice,” she says with a tiny hint of a smile. “Anywhere out of the heat. And the <em> sand </em>,” she adds, shuddering.</p><p> </p><p>Isabella laughs - she seems to have good humour - and begins to walk away from the ocean. “There is a wonderful café down the street. I may have to order for you, though; the menus are in Spanish.”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy ducks her head sheepishly, her already warm cheeks heating more in embarrassment as she follows Isabella away from the beach and to whatever café awaits them.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>“That was far too much walking,” Cathy groans, settling into a chair with a glass of water in front of her. “I’m even hotter now.”</p><p> </p><p>An impish smile plays on Isabella’s lips. “I asked you which café you wanted to go to. I think the other one was closer.”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy resists the urge to smack her forehead with her palm and instead stares curiously at Isabella. “Why did you show an interest in me?” she asks, determined to get to the point. “And how can I be certain you’re not <em> dangerous?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“I bought you a drink and a muffin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, and that is certainly something a kidnapper would do.” Why she thinks of a kidnapper is beyond her, but she is wary of a random person offering shelter, which was what Isabella did during their long trek to the café.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not a kidnapper. Although, I don’t think you would be a very easy person to kidnap.” Isabella’s smile is contagious, and Cathy allows herself a small laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Good. But really, why <em> did </em> you take me with you? Did I look <em> that </em> helpless?”</p><p> </p><p>Isabella takes a sip of her drink - tea, by the smell of it. “Sort of. Okay, yes. You did. But it wasn’t that.” She holds up a device that looks like objects other people on the beach were holding. “This started buzzing. I have it on Sensing mode, and…” She lowers her voice. “...Whenever it senses supernatural activity… It buzzes. So I looked at the camera, which picks up a supernatural indicator called Glow, and you… Well, you <em> Glowed </em>, but it was the same colour as the ocean…”</p><p> </p><p>She leans forward and places her hands on the table. “In short, you’re not a proper human. You have my sincerest apologies if that sounds rude, but… It’s the truth.”</p><p> </p><p>“Seeing as I opened my eyes on the <em> beach </em> of all places, I would assume not.” Cathy cracks a worried grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, so at least you have humour. I am glad you believe me. Most everyone else needed to be convinced.” Isabella jolts and then glances at the object in her hand. “I let Hemsworth know I found you, by the way. He’s intrigued. Do you want to go to <em> Estrella’s </em> headquarters so we can call him in private?”</p><p> </p><p>This <em> should </em> send alarm bells ringing in Cathy’s head, but it strangely does not. She nods slowly, taking a sip of her water. “That… sounds fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Isabella smiles, this time a very warm smile that is absolutely contagious. “Hemsworth will be… happy.”</p><p> </p><p>She rises, beckoning for Cathy to follow her. Cathy does, and as she steps out the door, she raises an eyebrow at Isabella. “Who <em> is </em>Hemsworth, by the way?”</p><p> </p><p>Isabella makes a face. “He is the, well,<em> owner </em> of sorts, of Renaissance, which Estrella is a part of. We keep a close eye on the supernatural, hunt ghosts, that sort of thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Owner. Does he… <em> do </em> anything?”</p><p> </p><p>Isabella snorts, nearly tripping. “He tells us what to do. He doesn’t do much else.”</p><p> </p><p>“He sounds useless,” Cathy murmurs.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say that to his face,” Isabella responds, cackling.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Harry Hemsworth is not a nice-looking man.</p><p> </p><p>Well, he is not particularly ugly by any means. But he appears <em> rude </em>. Cathy is not certain what makes her think this, but she wonders if it is his greater-than-thou smirk or the cold gleam in his eyes - or, perhaps, if it is because he reminds her of someone she can’t quite remember.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah… Catherine?”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy nods, folding her hands in front of her.</p><p> </p><p>Hemsworth cracks an awful looking smile. “Isabella, she really isn’t much, is she?”</p><p> </p><p>Isabella keeps her expression level. “Whatever you think, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy feels her lips draw into a line, and she fights to keep from frowning. “I really am useful,” she offers. “Isabella told me that everyone but me was confused. Everyone else went with those who came to get them. I hesitated, concerned she might harm me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You are paranoid, not useful.”</p><p> </p><p>How does Isabella tolerate this man?</p><p> </p><p>Cathy tells herself that Isabella fakes it to get in his good graces; he is, after all, her boss. </p><p> </p><p>“That does depend on how one looks at it, sir. You hunt ghosts, no? My paranoia could tell me that <em> something bad </em> is behind us. Then, we will turn, and there will be a ghost staring at us!”</p><p> </p><p>Hemsworth has the nerve to <em> laugh </em> - but it is not a creepy laugh or a condescending one. He nearly seems happy. “You do have humour. That will be useful, especially because I doubt the trainees in France or even here in England will have any.”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy feels her lips quirk despite her brain telling them to stay put. “Thank you, sir. I would love to make the undead die of laughter.”</p><p> </p><p>Hemsworth cackles before raising an eyebrow at an attendant behind him. “Well, it does seem that I need to go. It was… not too horrible meeting you, I suppose. Good day.”</p><p> </p><p>“You too, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>With that, Cathy glances at Isabella, who signs them both out of the Zoom meeting. </p><p> </p><p>“How did you like him?” Isabella asks, mischief dancing in her dark eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Cathy chuckles worriedly. “He is… complicated. I do not think I would like having him as my boss… Technically, <em> you </em> are my boss, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Isabella nods. “You are <em> very </em> lucky to have me and not, say, Henrique. I have a far better home.” She says the words with hidden laughter, as if she and this <em> Henrique </em> figure have a running inside joke about who has better decoration skills. “In fact, I have an extra bedroom that I have prepared just for you, my new favourite entity.”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy grins up at her. “Your <em> favourite </em> entity?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” Isabella says, leading the way to Cathy’s new bedroom. “You don’t like Hemsworth. That automatically brings you to the first place in my list of entities.”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy does a tiny jump while walking before stopping in front of the door that Isabella has just opened. Peering inside, she sees a quaint but cosy room with wood flooring and a dressed bed. There are shelves right under a window to her right.</p><p> </p><p>“I left it undecorated so you could choose what you like. I hope it’s enough - having my favourite entity unsatisfied would be terrible.”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy nearly wheezes. “No, no, I love it. Thank you. So much.”</p><p> </p><p>Isabella grins. “Of course. We will need to take you shopping for clothes, though, if you don’t want to forever have sand in them. And shoes, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Cathy groans, thinking of the sand in her shoes, and she shakes her head. “I don’t know if <em> you’ll </em> be <em> my </em> favourite entity after mentioning <em> sand.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Isabella cackles before turning around. “Let me know if you need anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Cathy says warmly. “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>Isabella gives her a soft smile that, this time, is devoid of mischief. “I’m here for you,” she says quietly, and with that, she leaves, shutting the door behind her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Have a wonderful day.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A Mission Begins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finally, with everyone together and accounted for, Harry Hemsworth sends his trainees on a mission. Will they make use of their preparation time? Only time will tell.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A double update! Wowza. I've really missed updating often and I'll be doing that more often (once I finish the next few parts, of course). Thank you all so much for reading this!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Oskar sits in his lounge with Katherine and Anna, the three of them in front of his laptop. A small dot next to his webcam is glowing, and there are already two squares lit up on his screen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In one of them, he notices Isabella Garcia seated next to a woman half a head shorter than her with the most amazing hair he has ever seen. They both seem quite happy considering that they are in a meeting with Harry Hemsworth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Henrique is sitting in his office, apparently speaking to someone near him. Oskar can barely make out any words from his quickly-moving mouth, but soon a woman wearing a choker pulls up a chair, rolling her eyes as she does so. Oskar figures he will like her. Anyone who can roll their eyes in front of Henrique is fair game for an amazing friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katherine cannot stop fidgeting next to him. Oskar glances at her, seeing that the sleeves of her oversized hoodie are over her hands and her scarf is still on. She must be hot. She does not take either off, though, and she stares at the screen as if it might burn her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say it will be okay, but knowing Harry Hemsworth, it might very well not be okay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna, however, seems very calm. Oskar knows she is not from the way her hands are folded together tightly, but he does not say anything. If she wants to be calm, he will let her be calm - it is not his place to do otherwise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Cynthia and Peter both have small squares up. Next to Cynthia is a slight woman with a worried expression. Which one is this? The one who remembers her surname, or the iconic first human-not-human to appear?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter is smiling and talking to the woman next to him. She, just like Isabella’s trainee, has amazing hair. She also has amazing style. Oskar knows these things. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He checks his watch. Hemsworth, as usual, is late.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is a full ten minutes later when he finally arrives, his hair askew and his clothing a mess. He doesn’t even bother to mute. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ghostbusters!” he shouts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katherine cringes next to Oskar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There have been sightings of paranormal activity in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brazil!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I had meant for your first mission to be, well, here in Europe, but it seems that will not be the case. You will investigate a series of tragic horse-racing accidents…” Hemsworth glances down at what Oskar assumes to be his notes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter and his trainee seem moderately interested. Cynthia and hers seem worried. Henrique seems almost upset. His trainee, however, is smirking. Both Isabella and her trainee are laughing about something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna seems a little confused while Katherine is still tense. Oskar wonders, not for the first time, if he should have invited Dess to this meeting. She almost always seems more relaxed when Dess is nearby.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, horse-racing accidents. Some resulted in injury, others in death. There have also been ghost sightings of jockeys tampering with the horses. You are, er, going to see what is wrong. You have a month to prepare. Questions?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katherine raises her hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Miss… Er, Miss Ex-Ghost?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna snickers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are we all meant to go together? I know none of these… </span>
  <em>
    <span>other people.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is a legitimate question. Oskar has no idea how everyone will react to one another, and he understands why Katherine would worry about such a thing. She does not seem to like new people very much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hemsworth grins. Oskar resists the urge to point out spinach in his teeth. He clearly did not even take the time to brush them before the meeting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes! We are all one company, and as you are all, ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>entities </span>
  </em>
  <span>we have never seen before, we would like to see how you work together. Of course, some full-fledged associates may not go; I don’t think Peter wants to, but other than that… Yes, everyone will go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t.” Henrique leans back in his chair, prompting the colleague next to him to raise an eyebrow lazily. “I do not want to go to Brazil. Besides, I have work here in France.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hemsworth shrugs. “Your loss.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will we have somewhere to stay?” Henrique’s trainee asks. “I’m Anne, by the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hemsworth narrows his eyes. “Of course, I’m not evil.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Debatable,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oskar thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that all?” Hemsworth asks, frowning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nearly everyone nods, and Hemsworth waves. “Good </span>
  <em>
    <span>bye</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oskar turns off his computer. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<span>“Girls… We have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of work to do.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So we're finally at the end... for now. This is going to be a series! Sur...prise? </p><p>Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed! Have a wonderful day.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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